


Strangers of Gold

by savagedream



Series: Friends of Silver [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16204487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savagedream/pseuds/savagedream
Summary: Nim has found a strange form of peace in her new life.  No longer does she roam the lands of Arda alone, but old strangers come threatening to ruin everything she has made for herself.  As darkness begins to wash across the land, everything Nim has come to hold dear is under threat.  The world is going to change, and no one knows if it is for the better.“What did you expect?” Nim asked incredulously, “That telling me that sweet little story would ‘fix’ me and I’d be your pretty little princess again?”“That isn’t what- ““Yes, it is! That’s all you’ve been doing since I got here!  How many times do I have to say it before it get’s through your thick skull? I’m. Not. Your. Daughter.  She is dead, and she is never coming back!”





	Strangers of Gold

“What am I to do with you?” Thranduil sighed as he ran the rag down Nim’s side, careful to avoid the tail end of the scars that wrapped around from her back.  “You promised me no more fighting.”

“Its not like I went out looking for it.” Nim huffed and then winced as Thranduil pushed the rag into the wound slightly to clear the grime from inside it. “Those orcs would have killed that caravan.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t killed.” Thranduil dipped the rag into the water to clean it and turned Nim to examine another wound. It appeared to be from some sharp ended whip, splitting the skin effortlessly from the top of one breast and wrapping up around her shoulder.  He tutted at the rudimentary stitches Nim had used to keep the worst of the splitting closed.

“I had Toron, I was fine.” Nim gritted as Thranduil worked to cut the stitches free. “They were better when they were first in.”

“If they were they wouldn’t look like lace on a corset.” Thranduil dismissed pulling the thread from her wound.  He dismissed the rag to in turn lift another bucket of water and carefully pour it over the wound.  He tried to hide his grimace as the dried blood and filth washed away to reveal bits of white where the skin has split to the fat above her breast.  “You’ll need stitches still.  Your ability to heal is hardly more than that of a mortal.”

Nim didn’t respond as she took of the dirty rag to twist between her fingers as Thranduil prepared the needle and thread.  Thranduil never took himself to be any sort of healer, he had been his fathers’ son and had trained extensively as a warrior.  Yet, nowadays his healing was nearly as good as his own healers and medics.  He had no choice but to learn, within the last few years Nim had become increasingly paranoid of her wounds and refused to expose her skin except before a select few.  At first it had seemed unimportant, Nim had always taken great pains to avoid battles until suddenly she wasn’t. 

Instead of her leaving for months or years she would return in weeks or days covered in scrapes and bruises. If she was gone longer he was sure to find bandages carefully tucked below her clothes where she had worked to fix herself. 

“Talk to me.”  Thranduil carefully pulled the needle through her flesh as he began his work. “You are far more reckless than before.  Each day you leave I wonder what wounds you will return with and each time you return they become worse and worse.”

“Bad luck.”

Thranduil suppressed a sigh, “You know, when my father first passed I found myself going after any fight I could find.  Small troops of orcs, thieves in the forest.  Anything to start a fight, anything to not think about him.  It was hard to think about how much it hurt when my body hurt far more from the wounds I was given.” 

“it’s fine.”

“Nim.” Thranduil grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him, “You said you wanted to try this, but you have to talk to me. No more hiding.”

Nim stubbornly remained silent until Thranduil went back to stitching.  She watched in silence as he carefully worked his way up to her shoulder.  As he finished Nim ran her fingers over the thread feeling how each hole pulled her flesh together. 

“I’ve been having dreams, nightmares.  Not the normal ones.  It’s the same thing repeatedly.” Nim looked as if she was about to offer her hand to show Thranduil before changing her mind and quickly drawing it back to her chest.  “I’m trapped n stone, in a coffin, a tomb.  The air is stale, and my lungs feel as if I’d breathed nothing but dust for decades.  I am so thirsty, so hungry and so . . . angry.  It was so strong it burned, like someone had set a flame in my chest.  I wanted out, I needed out and I needed to . . . hurt something.”  

She cursed as her eyes overfilled and tears began to fall.  She rubbed at them leaving blood and grime smeared on her cheeks.  She tried to continue several times but each time her lips parted her voice struggled to even whispers.  She tried to shout only to have a hoarse crackle come out. 

“Enough.”  Thranduil touched her cheek, “You don’t have to say more.” He soothed grabbing a clean rag to wipe her face clean before moving to clean the remaining blood from her closed wound.  “Either way you need to rest. That wound will take time to heal.  Its deep enough in some places that it could get foul fast.”  He fetched a robe from the frustrated elf before he let her grab he tugged it back a bit.

“That means no sneaking out, no forest runs, no climbing.  You’re exhausted.”  He added helping her arms through the sleeves.  There were a few more scrapes that needed tending, but they were minor enough Thranduil didn’t worry.

The haunted look on Nim’s face set Thranduil on edge.  There was something more to it, something she either couldn’t or wouldn’t say.  Either way he wanted her to rest, the scrapes and bruises could wait.  He would settle her in and then make a tea with the sleeping draught that would allow her rest to be dreamless and clam. 

As they neared her room she hesitated. Her lips parted and clung tighter to the elven lord.  Thranduil drew her past her door and felt her visibly relax.  He continued without a word turning the corridor towards his own room.  He knew if he mentioned it she would stubbornly insist of returning to her room and only worsen her condition. 

He stepped into his quarters and helped Nim into the rarely used bed.  “I’ll make you some tea- “He paused feeling her fingers coil into his robes. She refused to meet his gaze, but he could see her struggle.  Her broken mind trying to swallow her into some nightmarish sequence of torment.  He reached from the rope to call a servant when the sound of hooves on stone caught his attention.

 _Here little one._ Toron slipped into the room, his antlers brushing the chandelier making the crystals dance as he set the serving platter at the foot of the bed.  There was splashes of tea all about and the cup was half empty but Thranduil figured it would still be enough to let Nim rest for a time.

He tilted to cup to Nim’s lips until she drained the contents and snuggled into the blankets.  Within minutes her breath had slowed, and her body finally relaxed.  Thranduil let out a long breath and rubbed at his brow. 

 _Elf._ Toron’s voice drew Toron’s attention.  The stag stood over his charge and for a moment he thought he had imagined the stag’s voice.  The beast seemed to decide something a moment later and turn his attention to the king.  _Come, let her rest._   Toron’s tone left no room for protest, not that Thranduil wanted to.  There was a change in the stag’s gaze, something troubled and conflicted. 

The stag leads him from the room and down the hall.  Thranduil followed silently as he was led deeper and deeper into the confines of his kingdom.  The stag glanced back one or twice to make sure Thranduil was following. 

They passed bedrooms and work stations, storage rooms and even the wine cellar before Toron slowed.  He scanned the cluttered room for a moment as if expecting someone would appear.  When he was sure they were alone he moved to a small door and nudged it open. 

 _Do it._   Toron stepped aside to reveal a tiny room lit by a lone candle on a dusty plate.  It flickered over a rotting desk where a fresh quill and a stack of parchment rested.  Thranduil arched a brow as he stepped forward, lowering his head to allow himself into the small space.

“What are you wanting me to do?” Thranduil waved his hand over the candle flame brightening its glow so the room looked less gloomy. 

 _Write to the elves, invite them here, tell them all about her.  I don’t care, just help her._   Toron dragged a chair from the large room and shoved it into the tiny space.  _They’ve been happening for well over two years.  They carry none of the horrors she knows in her dreams, but they terrify her more than they ever could.  She refuses to speak of it, blocks any thought she has of it.  I know they are eating away at her, breaking her down bit by bit till there is hardly anything left._

“You want me to go against her wishes?” Thranduil blinked in surprise.  “You? Are you well, were you harmed as well in that fight?”  Toron moved to examine the stag but Toron shoved him away roughly, nearly knocking the lantern over in the process.

_Do not mock me!_

“You two have thwarted any attempt to tell the world of her.  None of my letters passed my room, none of the messengers I sent were ever able to leave the woods.  I found more of my letters turned into kindling than the wood that is meant for the flames.  I knew you never liked me, but I never imagined you’d try to force me into a trap.  Move, I’m returning to Nim- “

 _Damn it elf!_   Toron shoved him once more tipping the desk and scattering the papers and the ink across the stone floors.  _My worth in life is doing whatever my little one wanted, no matter how foolish how reckless.  If she asked me to touch the moon I would.  If she wished to fly I would grow wings and become a great bird for her.  But the moment she believed she was meeting her death, the moment I stepped aside and let her walk away from me. . . it was as if I had failed her.  I will not fail her again, even if it means going against her word._

“You really think these dreams that bad?”

_I can feel the change, even though it is so slight.  Time was able to create supports for Nim’s fits and nightmares, but now it seems as if time is breaking those supports down._

“I will write to them again, but sending letters takes time.  There are many skilled healers across Arda and each one will need time to arrive and responses to be sent.”

_I will take them._

“What about Nim?  I assume you aren’t telling her about this.” He motioned to the toppled table in the now darkened room. 

Toron hesitated and Thranduil caught a glimpse of how fearful the stag truly was. He was willing to part from his precious charge, leave her here in the hands of someone he openly hated.  Thranduil began to correct the room. The ink was no totally wasted, he could write a few letters before he was forced to fetch more. 

_Her and I have been parted before.  As much as she enjoyed her caves and her dwarves I still prefer the open sky.  I would often roam the lands above while she was away down below.  We have not parted in some time, but I will figure out some way to slip away._

“What will you tell her?” Thranduil relit the candle and carefully balanced it on large shard of the broken plate.  “If you leave she will just hunt after you.” 

_Say nothing to her, if you make some excuse little one will know something is going on.  It is best if you remain falsely ignorant of my departure._

Thranduil nodded already starting the opening to the first letter.  The first recipient wasn’t had to decide on.  He wasn’t keen on writing Lord Elrond; he and the younger elf never saw eye to eye on anything.  He would have liked to keep the elf blissfully ignorant of Nim’s existence but with the beast so worried Thranduil knew he could not dismiss one of the greatest healers in all of Arda.

“Take this one now, Lord Elrond is our best hope at getting help for Nim, I will have the others ready when you return.”  Thranduil offered out the first letter wishing he had a proper wax seal to keep it shut.

 _No, you will send the other letters with them._ Toron stepped aside to reveal a handful of deer carefully creeping into the cellar room.  They were not average deer.  Their warm brown coats splotched with snowy white and eyes that held a deeper sense of self.  They were larger too, not nearly the size of Toron but easily twice that of the average deer. 

“Who are they?” Thranduil offered his hand which a doe boldly stepped forward and sniffed.  Her eyes were a brilliant blue, the white splotch on her face making them even more brilliant. 

_It seems your first mate had taken a liking to the deer here in your forest.  Though those deer have long since passed these are the ancestors of them.  Though they are not able to speak and understand as I am they can take a letter._

“Hunters would pay good money for a deer hide of such unique coloration.”  Thranduil warned.  Toron snorted in frustration, obviously wishing to simply get on with their task.   He could see the panic building in Toron’s gaze.  Even with the stag’s greater stamina and speed there was no way he could take them all in a timely manner. 

The doe honked lightly and tugged at Thranduil’s robe. Thranduil meant to shoo her from nibbling on the fine fabric when his fingers brushed an embroidered crest on the right side of the fabric.  “Smart.” Thranduil complimented the doe. 

“I will give them my crest, there are plenty of embroidered patches that we can easily attach to their neck with some twine.  It should be enough to keep hunters at bay so long as they are careful.” 

 _They will be. Sapling._ Toron motioned the doe over. _Follow the elf and do as he ask.”_

“You will not take the first?” Thranduil stood trying to recall where he had seen the patches last, if worse came to worse he could cut them from his own wardrobe. 

_Little one will wake soon.  I must remain to make sure she had recovered enough for me to leave.  Sapling is swift, I do not doubt her. Now go, quickly.  The faster she leaves the better._

“Fetch me a lantern and some more ink.  I will try to write a few more tonight and send them out.” Thranduil stepped past the doe and started for the seamstresses’ workshop, acutely aware of the fawn trailing after him.

He glanced back one, Toron was speaking to the others, four bucks and two more does.  He must have been planning this for some time to have so many deer willing to step into dangerous lands for him.  He wanted to know what he said but the doe was nudging his hip and urging him on.

**

“This goes to Rivendell, there will be an elf there known as Elrond.” Thranduil explained as he tied the twine around the doe’s neck.  He could not find the extra patches, so he had little choice but to cut the one from his own clothing.  It was large enough though that a hunter would know better than to shoot at her. 

“Try to stay out of deep water.” He warned grabbing a small pouch and fixed it around the does shoulders. “its leather but it won’t keep the letter dry if it’s submerged.  Do you understand?”

The doe simply stared and Thranduil wondered if he needed Toron to replay his words in deer speak or whatever.   He was moving to lead her back down when she stretched her head forward and touched his cheek with her nose.  Thranduil felt a jolt, and for a moment he saw himself through the doe’s eyes. 

 _River, lord, letter, home._ Her voice was a near whisper as she stepped back. _Goodbye._   Thranduil offered his own farewell as the doe started off bounding away.  He realized after she had gone that he had not heard a single sound from her hooves on the stone.

He knew he needed to return to the secret room soon, but he found himself heading back to his room.  He told himself it was to fetch another quill even though he knew there were plenty in the storage rooms he had passed before. 

Nim was still asleep when he entered. She twitched slightly in her sleep revealing that she was dreaming once more.  He wondered if it were the crypt dreams that had her so frightened.  All he needed to do was reach out and touch her face to see.  He even found himself reaching out his fingers less than an inch from her skin. 

He remembers the time she had lashed out at him; had shown him a glimpse of the torment she risked each time she closed her eyes.  The pain had brought Thranduil to his knees.  How could these new dreams be more frightening than reliving the hell she experienced? Perhaps if he saw if for himself . . .

Thranduil shook his head and drew away.  Nim would never forgive him for snooping in such a way.  She had never been able to control her gift while she slept.  Thranduil had often found himself watching her memories while she slept curled up in his arms.  She hated how vulnerable it made her.

“Thranduil?” her gaze opened a bit and she reached out sleepily towards him.  He grasped her small hand tightly in his own.

“I have a few things to do quickly and then I will come to bed, rest now.”

“stay.”  She urged tugging at his hand.  “You chase the darkness away, I don’t want to be alone.”

“Alright, alright.  I guess they can wait till morning.”  He relented, the more important letter was out already.  The other dozen or so could wait. 

He slid off his robes and changed into his nightwear before slipping into bed.  Nim was at once curled into him.  She was struggling to remain awake, leaving sleepy kisses on his chin.  He trailed his fingers across her scalp until eventually her drooping lids remained shut. Thranduil prepared himself as the first flickers of her memory seeped into her mind as she drifted off. 

Before he knew it, they were dancing again in the main hall.

 

 


End file.
